


A Promise From Her Boy

by PsychoCellist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst and Humor, Animagus!Hedwig, Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Gen, Hogwarts Era, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Romance, Some Humor, Tragedy, Tragic Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-03
Updated: 2013-01-02
Packaged: 2017-11-23 11:18:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 8
Words: 20,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/621543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PsychoCellist/pseuds/PsychoCellist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry Potter did not have any reason to suspect his snowy Hedwig was different from any other owl. That's why she waited to tell him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

When Rubeus Hagrid picked up a snowy owl for Harry Potter, as a birthday gift, he couldn’t have known the full implications. There was no reason for him to suspect that he would be drastically changing anyone’s life, let alone two. It was utterly inconceivable, anyone would agree, that he could imagine the joy and sorrow stemmed from that selection. The fact, however, was that Eeylops didn’t stock snowy owls, and they never had.

            Harry had wondered once or twice why his was the only snowy owl at Hogwarts, why he never saw another flitting about the Owlery. It had not occurred to him to wonder why his was the only owl that did not seem to flit, why his was the one that was neatest, least fussy. Why his seemed to understand him best when he talked to her. It had not occurred to him to wonder why his snowy Hedwig was so much more affectionate than anyone else’s owl.

            He had been new to the wizarding world then, lost in a flurry of change that knocked his feet from under him. He had no idea how an owl was meant to act, or if there was a proper way for an owl to act at all. Until very soon prior, he hadn’t known anything of magic. And this was why she waited. She wanted him to be ready; she wanted him to feel safe. She had chosen him, from behind those windows, had placed herself in the commotion and gently coerced the gamekeeper to look her way. She had manipulated the situation so carefully that she was utterly unwilling to let it crumble on shock alone.  

            So she waited, patiently. He was good to her, though he didn’t know. He didn’t know that when she went to hunt she also changed. He was certainly unaware of how painful it was for her that period in their first summer when they were locked away – how badly she longed to go out and stretch not only her wings, but her legs. She could only hoot miserably, rattling the cage that she knew was not intended to confine her.

            There was kindness in the boy, in Harry. She could see that clearly. He was a bit younger than her, a bit more naïve, but there was something so beautiful in his innocence. She didn’t need to try to protect him: it was instinct, and it came to her as naturally as flying. Though she waited those first two summers, those three school years, she was not unhappy. He treated her as an animal, of course, because that was what he knew. But he had always _spoken_ to her as a person, as a being of thought and intellect, which was a courtesy she had never before been given from a wizard or witch. He did this without knowing, without reason to suspect she could even understand his words.  So she tried to help him, as best as she could, as often as she could, as faithfully as she could.

            She had chosen him, it was true. But it was a whim, really. A new and flushed-cheeked face, one naïve enough to care for her and weak enough to be abandoned at the first sign of misfortune. She had done it before, several times, looking for shelter and some semblance of love and finding spite and misuse. It had never guilted her to leave those places; she merely considered them stops on her never-ending journey toward some kind of home. At first, she had been pleased with her choice. Then she became enamored not just with her situation, but with her boy. Her Harry. And it was sometime in their first year that she decided she would tell this one, about what she was.

            He was much too young, though. Too preoccupied, too mistrusting. Too concerned that his whole exploration into magic had been a dream. She could never have known how important he was to be, how tormented. She told herself once or twice that she had chosen him on purpose, but she knew really it was only a stroke of luck that stuck them together. She no longer remembered a world in which she didn’t want to choose him, wasn’t searching for him, didn’t always want to come home.

            She had had many names over time, most demeaning and thoughtless. The original, the first, was long forgotten, lost to the wind she had left so far at her back. But his was special. She had flipped through his book, where he found it, when he was asleep. It was the name of a witch – a name of an idol. It was a name for a soul, not a name for a thing. Over time, she perked more readily to its sound. Over time, she warmed when she heard him say it. Over time, even in her own thoughts she called herself _Hedwig_.

            It was in their third summer that she finally decided to do it. She wasn’t locked up this time, and it had been relatively quiet. He had the information he needed now, he knew about Animagi from his godfather. More importantly, he needed her now, when he was reeling. He needed a friend.

            It was time to tell her boy.

 


	2. Chapter 2

She had decided not to change in front of him. It would only scare him. Even seeing as much as he had, she understood she was one of few constants in his life. This thought formed a lump in her throat. It almost made her not want to tell him.

She waited for a time when the Dursleys went out, and they took their horrible son with them. Harry had been left alone, which was not always the case. And he left his room, just for a moment, just for long enough to give her the chance. It was now or never.

Hedwig took a deep breath and fluttered calmly from her cage. He kept it unlatched for her when no one was looking, and she easily opened the door. She positioned herself on his bed, atop his rumpled sheets and careless scraps of notes and doodles. Then her eyes closed, and she did it.

It was odd, the change. Quick and slow at the same time. It felt both like becoming something you weren’t and returning to what you were, like falling asleep and waking up at the same time. It had been a while between human periods; she had been feeling more and more comfortable on her perch. Without thought or pain, she was herself again: or a version anyway. Pale, and too thin, with a single sheet of blonde hair, and the air of a person who was once broken.  Her clothes had come with her, as usual, but they felt uncomfortable now. Muggle clothes she had picked up far too long ago to remember, lying oddly on her bony frame. The one constant was her eyes: the same deep amber in either form.

He was coming back. He was expecting an empty room and a full cage. Would he scream? Would he run? Would he be appalled that she had been living with him this whole time? She bit her bottom lip as he entered, and tried to look nonthreatening.

Harry walked into the room nonchalantly, certainly not expecting anyone to be inside.  He didn’t scream. His eyes simply grew wide, and in a flash he’d whipped out his wand. She felt small, suddenly, and frightened. It was not a condition she was used to, certainly not from her boy.

“Who are you?” His words were calm, but his fingers tightened around the wand.

“Put that away.” She stood up slowly, arms raised. “I’m not going to hurt you. Besides, I’m unarmed.”

His eyes narrowed slightly, but held the wand tighter. “Who are you?” he repeated.

"Please. Set it down.” She was nervous at wandpoint. She needed a clear head to break the news to him.

She watched him deliberate for a moment. She had seen the face a thousand times; deciding whether it was worth it to give Dudley a swift punch, wondering which shirt to wear, calculating his next action in a time of danger.  After a moment, he put the wand slowly in his pocket, not taking his eyes from her. “For the last time: _who are you?_ ”

A breath of relief escaped her. She tried to look at him the way she always did, tried to restore the familiarity they’d had not five minutes ago. “Harry, it’s me.” He was puzzled. “It’s Hedwig.”

It was the first time she’d tasted the name in her mouth, but it didn’t feel out of place there.

“Hedwig.” He was skeptical. His eyes flitted between her and the cage, which was clearly empty. He took a look at the firmly locked window, too. “Hedwig…my owl.”

She nodded, and took a small, exploratory step toward him. “It’s me.”

“You’re crazy,” he said. “What have you done with Hedwig?” His eyes were flitting routinely back to the cage now, a look of panic accruing in them.

“I’m not crazy,” she said. “And I _am_ Hedwig. I’m an Animagus.” She took a pause and a breath. “Like Sirius. Like your father.”

His wand was on her again, anger flashing quickly in his eyes. “How do you know --?”

But before he could finish, she was changing again. Looking always at him, she folded herself back into her owl form. Once there, it felt as natural as the human form had – her wings no more out of place than arms, feathers no different than skin. She looked up at him, at her boy, whose eyes were wide with shock. She fluttered up to his eye-level, and he raised an arm for her automatically. It wasn’t conscious; it was years of the same habit. She took it, a comfortable seat for her, and nipped him affectionately, as she had a hundred times.  She focused her eyes on his, so green and so confused.

He was bewildered for a moment. “He-Hedwig?” he sputtered.  He searched her face for something, trying to find a difference, but she knew he would realize eventually; this was his owl, his constant, his friend.  

There was a sound from downstairs, a distinctly loud and lumbering and _Dursleyish_ sound, and Harry turned to face it. He looked back at her, still unable to decide what to feel.

“They’ll be in in a second, to check, to see I haven’t made any trouble, so, er, stay…like this? I mean, you know that, I guess, you’re…” He trailed off and took her back toward the open cage, where he placed her gently. He closed the door and secured the latch. His eyes ran from it to her, flustered. “Er, sorry.” She ran her beak along his hand to show him she didn’t mind. He only blinked once and then tried to assume an unobvious position on the bed.

When the door creaked open, it seemed that the first thing to enter was a birdlike nose. Aunt Petunia followed it, staring disapprovingly into the room. “What are you doing in here?” Her voice almost came out as a chirp.

“Nothing.” There was a bite in his tone that might have seemed like anger if Hedwig hadn’t known he was nervous.

“I heard your voice. You don’t have…” she seemed nervous. “You haven’t got any of that _freak_ business in here?”

“No, I haven’t,” he said curtly.

“Then who were you talking to?” Her arms were crossed over each other like two wires twisted together. He sat up and stared her down. _Oh, Harry_ , Hedwig thought. _Don’t be stupid_.

“Just Hedwig.” She was amused to realize he didn’t even need to lie.

“The _creature_?” Petunia clicked her tongue distinctively. Then her eyes were on Hedwig, with the same disapproving glance she’d seen a hundred times. The look that said _vermin_. Hedwig was too proud for it to bother her, but Harry had a definite squirm in him.

“Yes, _Hedwig_. Is that a problem?”

Petunia snapped her fowllike gaze back to him. Hedwig was surprised she could speak through her pursed lips. “Make sure it stays quiet.” Then she was gone.

 Harry sprung up, nervously, back to the cage. He didn’t know what to do with the new information. There was definitely a different look in his eyes, though she couldn’t tell if it was an improvement. “So…I need to, I mean, we should wait until they’re in bed at least, but, I’d…like to talk to you.” She nipped his fingers, which she hoped he could recognize as affirmation. His fingers slipped as he undid her latch, slowly, carefully, like he was afraid of being harmed by whatever came out. Then she glided to his desk, and perched there like she usually did when he was writing and she was waiting to carry his letters somewhere.

He looked at her, like he hadn’t ever looked at her. His eyes were moving rapidly back and forth, the way they always did when he was experiencing something new. She was used to the look; their first year, she had seen it thousands of times. He didn’t realize how well he actually knew her, but it was clear she knew him better than ever. “I don’t mean to stare or anything, I’m just…confused.” She hooted reproachfully. _It’s just me, Harry_.

She couldn’t tell if he got her meaning, but he hadn’t often misinterpreted her before. He smiled at her for the first time since he’d learned. She gave him an approving sort of coo in return. This was what she wanted.

For a while, he did a sort of dance around her. They were waiting for the snoring to begin, so she could change again. She was used to this: this had been her everyday routine for the past two years, and she knew how to deal with that. But Harry was confused. She watched him try to read his books, try to tidy the room, try to practice catching a snitch-sized ball. Every few seconds, though, he was looking at her again. Shuffling nervously from task to task. Unsure what to do. He obviously didn’t want to talk to her now that he knew she could answer back: he wanted to wait to hear her. So he was silent with her in his room, like they’d been together for months on end, because for him something was different.

 She wasn’t bothered. She thought it was sweet, and certainly one of the best reactions she could have imagined. And in all honesty, she liked the attention.

Then, what seemed to her suddenly, the usual symphony of snoring had begun and it was time.  He heard it too, and gave her an encouraging look. She flew to the spot beside him, and after a second, she was her normal height, slightly taller than him, watching him cope with the shock all over again.

“I can’t…get used to that.”

“You will,” she replied. “I did.”

“So you’ve been…I mean…where do I start?”

She smiled at him, a tiny laugh bubbling up. “Hello, Harry Potter. I’m Hedwig. We met two years ago.”

“Er…hi. So Hedwig is your actual name, then?”

“Well, no. Not the one I had originally. But it’s my name now. Sure, you said it first, but I like it. I’ve decided it suits me.”

“What were you called before?”

She rolled her eyes slightly. “Oh, the usual stuff. Snowball, Sugar, Cupcake…and Nina, once.”

“No, I meant…” he hesitated. “I meant the first one.”

Her heart dropped a little, but she kept her eyes on his and her chin up. “I don’t remember. It’s been too long being mostly an owl. I’ve had too many names given to me by too many people.”

He scratched his head.  “Well, I think…you’re right. Hedwig does suit you.”

“Thank you.” She flashed a smile at him. “That’s why I picked it.”

His turn to grin. “ _I_ picked it.”

“No, you came up with it. I decided that I would allow it.”

He laughed a little. She really loved to see him laughing.

“So you’re an Animagus.”

“I should think that’s fairly obvious. But yes. Animagus. Taught myself to be one when I was young, younger than you. It was difficult, and it took years. But my father helped me. He used to turn into a great leaping Saint Bernard.”

“Your father?” He raised his eyebrows. Perhaps he hadn’t yet thought of her as a being with parents.

She only paused slightly. “Gone now. Mum too. Let’s not talk about it.” She brushed it off easily, the same way she usually brushed it from her mind. He seemed reluctant to let it go, but whether it was curiosity or suspicion she couldn’t tell.

“So you’re a witch, but… why aren’t you going to school?”

She felt the urge to squirm, but as usual, she held it back.  “Why would I? I already know everything.” Her easily arrogant tone didn’t convince him. He was looking at her that concerned way he did two summers ago, when he knew she was restless and hungry and couldn’t help her. “Okay. I never had the chance. I’m unregistered, you know. As an Animagus, as an _everything_. I’m on nobody’s radar. Don’t exist.” She forced a weak smile. “I never even had a wand of my own. I’m not really much of a witch. Really I’m more of an owl.”

He looked upset. She hoped to Merlin that it wasn’t with pity. “Look, I like it that way. I can hunt on my own terms, I can fly wherever I want, and I have a really peaceful, stress-free life. And besides, it was more of the owl in me that led me to you anyway, so I think it’s serving me just fine.”

“What do you mean led you to me? Like fate or something?” He was picturing Trelawney and crystal balls.

She knew nothing of that. “No, Harry. Not fate. I picked you.”

He raised his eyebrows playfully. “Come on. Hagrid bought…I wasn’t even there.”

“Of course not. But I saw him with you, and I persuaded him to take me to you.”

He seemed skeptical. He didn’t know how well she could get what she wanted, even without words. “Why me, then? If you could pick anybody?”

She chuckled a little. “Well isn’t it obvious? Aren’t you the Boy Who Lived?” His slight smile vanished instantly. He averted his eyes in a way that caused a sharp jolt in her heart. “I’m sorry, Harry, I was kidding. I didn’t even know, then. Who you are.”

His tone was decidedly surlier. “Well, that’s a first, isn’t it?” He still wasn’t looking at her, and the anger was creeping into his manner.

“Honestly, Harry. I’m on nobody’s radar, I told you that. I didn’t know. To me, you were just an eleven-year-old wizard wandering for the first time through Diagon Alley.”

“So why, then? Why me, if I was nothing special?”

She was briefly shocked. “Harry, just because I didn’t know about Voldemort’s curse doesn’t mean you were nothing special.”

He was silent for a minute. She continued. “I felt a connection to you, I guess. Or maybe I just thought you seemed sweet. I’d been in a lot of households that…weren’t. But you were kind-looking, and so young, and you didn’t know anything. I wanted to watch you discover the world.”

He turned his gaze back to her, and the anger was gone. He was looking at her again, like she was something new. She was not expecting what he said next. “You said his name,” Harry sputtered. “Voldemort. You said it.”

She’d heard the step-arounds: You-Know-Who, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, The Dark Lord. It had not occurred to her that she was supposed to use them, too. It had been years since she’d talked to another wizard at all. “I only learned his name when we went to school. I wasn’t raised with the fear, Harry. I don’t know to cringe at the sound.”

“I understand that better than anyone.” Their hands were lying beside each other on his bed, inches apart. He was beginning to look at her the same way he always had, with the same easy companionship. Then it broke.

He stood up suddenly, crossed the room and stared at the wall. “So I guess you’re leaving then.”

She stood up after him. “ _What_?”

He turned around, face deliberately calm. “I mean, that’s why you’re telling me, right? Because you’ve decided to…leave? Move on and go somewhere else? That’s why you’re telling me?”

Her mouth fell open, just slightly. She had to take a moment to pull herself together. “I’ve never told this to anyone, Harry. You think it’s my parting gift? I’m unregistered. This is not a secret I hand out lightly.”

“And you think you can tell me?” His expression was unreadable.

“I trust you, Harry. I _know_ you. You think I’ve been here all this time because I had nowhere else to go?” She took a step toward him. “I’m not telling you because I’ve decided to leave, Harry. I’m telling you because I’ve decided to stay.”

There was shock, first, and a hint of denial. Then, oh so slowly, he broke into a calm, steady smile, arriving in pieces like he still wasn’t sure its source was real. He felt as if his heart was swollen. “That’s…brilliant.” He was beaming now. “But, er, are you sure? Isn’t it weird for you?”

She couldn’t hold back a return smile. He was so young. Only a few years younger than her, yes, but so _new_.  He didn’t understand her when she said she was more of an owl than a witch. He didn’t understand that it felt nearly the same to her, in owl form. She responded by changing again, watching his eyes widen naturally. She leapt up to him, in a flutter of wings, enthusiastic.  He put up his arm instinctively, the way he always did. She took her spot and nuzzled her head against his shoulder.

He stroked her head slightly, hesitantly. “I see your point.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

He seemed happier for the rest of the summer, at least to her. He would come off a Dursley moment back to his room, and laugh quietly, knowing she’d heard. Knowing someone was right there with him. She wondered if she should have told him two summers ago, when he was feeling so alone, or even last summer, when he’d thought he had to flee wizarding law for the incident with his aunt Marge. But she hadn’t been around then; she wouldn’t have had the chance to talk him out of it anyway.  She stood by her choice to wait, until he was old enough.  Still, what they suddenly had was something she wished she could have had years ago.  This was a deeper companionship.

She couldn’t often change and risk being seen, but even though she almost never took human form, they were closer. They developed a sort of silent communication, a combination of looks and gestures on his part and hoots and shuffles on hers. When they were sitting together, not involved with each other, there was still a connection, the sort of silent and immovable thread that you feel when a friend’s in the room. At night, when no one could hear him, he would talk to her, tell her whatever she had missed when she wasn’t around. Once or twice she changed and talked to him, told him the little of her past she fully remembered and could bear to speak aloud. It wasn’t a lack of trust; there were just some things she couldn’t make come out of her mouth, some things she couldn’t think about. He either didn’t notice or didn’t mind.

Something unusual always happened in the summer, at least to Harry, and she was bracing herself for it. Any minute there was bound to be a half-giant, or a house-elf, or an unwanted bit of magic....He didn’t seem to be too worried about it, but it consumed her. She’d been gone a lot. Of course, she was gone a lot bringing him news from his friends, but it still meant she couldn’t be around to protect him.

The first time he’d wanted her to go somewhere, he didn’t mention it for days. She watched him write the letter, when he thought she was sleeping. Then he put it under his pillow and left it there, addressed and all, for three days. She laughed to herself: he didn’t want to bother her with it, now that she was a _person_. He thought that she would be offended. It was sweet of him to think that way, but he didn’t understand. Flying was a joy for her, and this gave her an excuse.  Besides even that, the letters she brought back never failed to make him smile, and that was something she thoroughly enjoyed.

On the fourth day, after she’d used up the amusement she was going to get out of it, she fluttered out of her cage and retrieved the letter, then placed it on his lap and bothered him until he tied it on her. He looked apologetic at first, but she gave him her best disapproving hoot. _Harry, it’s fine_.  It didn’t really cease to bother him until after she brought him back four separate birthday cakes. That night, she changed and sat on his bed with him, and they went through nearly a cake and a half together. They had to stifle their laughter so they wouldn’t wake the Dursleys.

It was late in the summer before anything happened, and for once it wasn’t immediately ominous. Hedwig had been off hunting; it was easier to eat as an owl, especially since Dudley was on a diet, and she enjoyed the chase. When she returned, however, midmorning, she was less than thrilled. Some tiny grey fluff of a thing was circling excitedly around Harry’s bedroom, and she was immediately put off by it. It was only when she really entered the room that she realized it was an owl.

When it saw her, it became practically ecstatic.

 _Harry Potter? Harry Potter? Harry Potter?_  it chirped at her.

 _Yes, this is Harry’s bedroom_. She could already tell that she wasn’t going to get along well with the creature. She could communicate with other owls, but generally didn’t; they weren’t people, and were a far cry from engaging conversationalists.  This one was so excited that it didn’t even meet her low expectations.

 _Harry Potter! Harry Potter! Harry Potter!_   It screeched, clearly excited it had happened upon the right bedroom.  _Oh, honestly…_ she thought. She took her usual place on her perch and stared disapprovingly down at it. Harry entered then. He seemed nearly as irritated with the thing as she was, though he was beaming. Something wonderful must’ve happened downstairs, which was almost impossible at Number 4, Privet Drive. He managed to grab a letter from the owl, with some difficulty, and sat to read it. As he finished, he looked up at her. “They’ve invited me to the Quidditch World Cup, Hedwig. The Weasleys.  I’m _leaving the Dursleys’ and going to the Quidditch World Cup._ ”

She smiled as well as an owl could. She had no fondness for the sport herself, but she’d seen how happy it made him; he was always looking at books and things of players when he was here and unable to play. Though she didn’t quite get the appeal of _watching_ the sport, she understood how he liked to play. After all, she was no stranger to the joys of flying. She felt strangely proud at his happiness, though she couldn’t quite figure out why.

He scribbled back a response to Ron, whose owl it apparently was, and tied it to the little flutterer’s leg. It whizzed out the window with a happy screech of _Home! Home! Home!_   Then he turned back to her. She kept unusually still, determined to balance out the excitement of the little owl. “Feeling up to a long journey?”

She hooted responsively, and he scribbled a postscript onto something he’d been working on. She saw the label _Sirius_ as he tied it to her leg.

“I’ll be at Ron’s when you get back,” he told her. Then they said goodbye, the wordless way they usually did, almost as a pulse through the air between them. She took off, out the window and into the brightening sun.

As she left, Harry grinned and sat down. He pulled a great hunk of birthday cake from under his floorboards. He was leaving for the summer. He was seeing his friends. He was going to the World Cup. As he ate the cake alone, he couldn’t help thinking that he was almost perfectly happy.

 


	4. Chapter 4

School was different now. Of course she had been there before, stayed in the Owlery, given him her letters. Despite all the other owls, and the commotion, she quite liked the Owlery. It was a place where she felt like she belonged, a place where everything had a purpose that was easily discerned. It was home to her, as Gryffindor tower was home to her boy. It was as if when they found each other they also each found their place.

At first, she wondered if there would be any use to his knowing at school. He certainly wasn’t going to talk to her when she was an owl, and they weren’t together most of the time anyway. She didn’t trust anyone but him enough to change and wander through the castle. Surely someone would notice a strange and unfamiliar face, and though she wasn’t certain what they would do to an underage unregistered Animagus, she was not willing to find out. She thought several times about flying directly to the common room, late at night when no one was up except Harry and his friends, but though she trusted Harry’s judge of character, she did not have the same faith in Ron and Hermione that he did. Comparatively, they were strangers to her. Her boy was the first, and possibly only, living soul she would ever tell.

One night, rather early in the year, however, her wondering was dispelled. There was a shuffling in the Owlery, far too late. No one came around at this hour of the night, and she perked instantly when she heard it. Nothing was to be seen below, but there was a presence: she could feel it.

Of course it was him. He’d taken his Invisibility Cloak up to the Owlery to see her, to speak to her. She fluttered gently down the wide, open tower and led him through the castle, to a distant corner room she had never seen anyone use. Then she changed, and shut the door, and they _talked_ again. He would look at her now the same way he looked at Ron and Hermione, speak to her of the same fears and passions and angers he spoke of to them. More and more often he would come for her at night, and they would go wordlessly to what became their spot, and create a pocket of the universe in which other troubles and stigmas didn’t exist.

Occasionally, on nights when she was lonely, or she knew that he was bound to be, she would go to him. Sometimes she’d bring him a note at breakfast, and he’d open it away from his friends. It would only read “tonight,” but he’d know. Sometimes she would come unannounced, and he would always seem to be up when she got there, as if he’d known anyway. She’d fly to the window of the boys’ dormitory, rap gently on the glass. None of the boys would wake over the sound of Ron’s snoring, but he would tiptoe to the window and open it for her. And she’d sit on the edge of his bed with him. Those nights she wouldn’t change; those nights they didn’t talk. He only sat and stroked her feathers lovingly, gently, and she nuzzled his hand in return, and he would fall asleep holding her. She always flew away in the morning, before anyone was up, back to the tower and her own kind of bed, but while she was with him they were at home together.

It only took a few of these nights for her to realize that telling him was the best decision she’d ever made.

When she originally learned that he was in the Triwizard Tournament, she didn’t know what to do. Why was he always getting himself into trouble? Why couldn’t he manage to be safe, just once? Of course it wasn’t his fault, of course it was some scheme he couldn’t control, as always. It would be easier, so much easier, if she had decided to live with some other boy. Any other wizard or witch, wandering through Diagon Alley. If she didn’t have to be worried so often about something she could not help at all.

Almost suddenly, the first task was approaching. Harry had been racking his brains for something to do ever since he’d seen the dragons, but he was lost. He’d told her as much when he came to see her in their room.

“What do I do, Hedwig? How can I face _dragons?”_  The look on his face was intolerably anxious.

“I don’t know, Harry. I just don’t know.” She shook her head dejectedly.

He was pacing again, something he’d been doing whenever she saw him. She was sitting on a desk shoved against a wall, hunched slightly over and out of practice with her human spine.

“Haven’t you…don’t you know something? Some bit of magic?”

She shook her head. “I never went to school, Harry. I only learned what I was taught at home. Besides, it’s been years since even _that_. I don’t even remember the incantations.”

He stopped pacing to look at her. He could not imagine forgetting magic, forgetting something so integral to him. He didn’t realize that, like anything, it faded without practice. Her last incantation had been years ago. Before her father had died. “None of them?” he whispered.

“No, none.” She was too proud to admit this was some kind of failure, too proud to accept that he thought it was odd. “I don’t need them. I don’t have a wand anymore. The only ones I could tell you are what I’ve seen you do, and you hardly do magic around me.”

His hand went automatically to his pocket, where his wand was. His fingers stroked it gently, almost like he stroked her feathers at night. “I suppose I don’t,” he answered. “Does that bother you?”

She smiled just slightly. “Of course not, Harry. It’s not as if we could _duel_ or anything.” His hand fell away, and she stood up, leaning herself against the desk. “But you shouldn’t refrain. If you need practice, if you want to. I’ve accepted that I’m not much of a witch. You, however, are an extraordinary wizard. Maybe I could even help you.”

His eyes met hers. He often looked at her this way, like he didn’t quite understand her. Like he was awed and shocked by her whole being.

“To be honest, though, the only thing I’m really good at is flying.”

“We’re the same, there,” he told her. “Hermione’s the one clever at spells. If this were a Quidditch match, that would be one thing, but dragons…”

She glanced out the window thoughtlessly, imagined the wind. She shivered slightly; the castle was drafty, and she wasn’t used to skin. He walked over beside her, leaning against the desk, and stared out the window. She nearly knocked him over when she shivered again.

“Are you cold?” he asked, staring at her thin summer Muggle clothes. “Here” He pulled his cloak off the ground where he’d left it and wrapped it around her shoulders. It smelled the semi-pleasant boyish way he always smelled, a smell she recognized from his bed. It was warmer than she imagined it would be. He was laughing at her, and she realized all at once why.

“Merlin’s beard!” she cried, staring at the space her torso and legs should have been. It hadn’t occurred to her that this was his Invisibility Cloak; she’d never used it. One of her feet was floating there, but not the other. She shifted it around, testing the different positions of visibility. He was still laughing. “This is surreal.”

“You’ll get used to it,” he said, chuckling. “I did.”

 

<><><><>

 

Harry had thought he spotted a glint of white when he walked out into the stands, for the first task. Somewhere high in the stands he saw it, and he imagined it was Hedwig, come out to see him. It was a comfort to think of her there, supporting him. Ron was being a git about the whole Tournament, and Hermione was far too worried about him. He appreciated the concern, sure,  but it made him believe she thought he couldn’t do it. Hedwig knew how well he could fly. _The only thing I’m really good at is flying._ He could hear her, in his mind, hear the soft assurance of her voice. It applied to him, too. If he could only properly summon his broom, he would be home free.

She was watching him, all right. Perched silently high in the stands, almost pulsating with fear. It wasn’t the flying that scared her, it was the spell. If he couldn’t manage it, it would ruin him

When his Firebolt came raging from the castle, they both breathed a simultaneous sigh of relief.

 

<><><><> 

 

Harry paced across their room, again. Hedwig thought that if this year kept up the way it was going, Harry would wear a trench in the floor by the end.

“Hedwig, I’m out of ideas.”

The second task had come up now, far too quickly. It was the last night he had, and Harry wasn’t ready. He was constantly worried about it, despite what Hermione thought of how little he was preparing. It wasn’t that he wasn’t trying, it was just that he felt increasingly convinced the answer wasn’t in any book.

She couldn’t concentrate with him moving all the time. “Sit down, Harry.” She motioned him toward the desk where she was perched, cross-legged. The pacing made her nervous, but she kept a calm exterior for his sake. He obeyed and sat next to her softly, but continued to fidget and fuss at his pajamas. It was better than the pacing in any case.

“There must be some sort of…breathing hex.”

He shook his head. “Not that we’ve found. I’ve been up every night in the library with Hermione.”

She should have known that. The last task at least she had understood the flying element. Without that, her areas of expertise were wholly inapplicable.

She racked her brain, tried to come up with a snippet or a memory or a fragment of hidden knowledge, but she had nothing. She wasn’t practiced in magic, not anymore. She went years without even thinking about it after she’d snapped the wand in two, after…

“Harry, I want to help you. I wish I could. But you know I don’t know any magic, not really. Hermione’s the one to ask about this.”

Harry stared at his pajamas, head down. He was silent for a moment.

“I can’t.”

Hedwig let her legs fall over the edge of the desk so she could scoot closer to him. His voice was almost too soft to hear. “What do you mean, you can’t?”

He stood up in a rush and whirled around to face her. “I mean, they’re gone. Ron, Hermione, I can’t find them. They just vanished, went to see McGonagall about something and haven’t been back. Probably they’ve given up hoping.”

She stood up calmly. “I’m sure they haven’t given up hoping, Harry. Maybe they’re just…busy.”

“Busy?” he nearly yelled. He immediately regretted the decision to raise his voice. It was late, and he couldn’t risk waking anyone. He had to remind himself that this was not Hedwig’s fault. “They’re the ones who are busy? I have to go into a lake tomorrow, Hedwig, to find who-knows-what, and do it all without drowning or getting pummeled by grindylows and _maybe_ a giant squid, but they’re probably busy!” His voice was a harsh whisper, like sandpaper. “Ron wasn’t in bed when I left, Hedwig. He’s gone somewhere else. They’ve both just…left.” He lost his fervor all at once.

Hedwig took several slow steps toward him and wrapped her arms around him. He was several inches shorter than her still, though the gap was shrinking. His head was on her shoulder now, and he might have been crying. “They haven’t just left, Harry. There must be a reason. I’ve seen them with you. The friends who followed you to face Voldemort twice aren’t going to leave you now. They care about you as much as I do.”

He raised his head to look at her. He hadn’t been crying, but his breathing was rapid and irregular. “I know. I know, I know. The thing is, I have no idea what I’m doing tomorrow, and I keep hearing the words ‘people have died in this tournament’ over and over in my head. I didn’t ask for this, Hedwig. I don’t know what I would do if you weren’t here.”

She moved her hands from his back and took his hands gently. “Don’t worry about that,” she gently scolded. “I’m always going to be here.” She smiled at him, though she knew he couldn’t possibly return the gesture. “Where would I go?”

 

<><><><> 

 

Time had begun to move at alarming speeds for Hedwig. It seemed to her that her life, Harry’s life, was now occurring in flashes of main events strung together by the nights spent in their room. Dobby’s gillyweed, the second task, the points for heroism, all of it was over before it began, or so it seemed to her. The world was spinning faster and faster.

And suddenly her boy came back from the Tournament that has taken lives with a body, and he was crying in her arms, crying like he hadn’t cried in years, splayed on the floor of the abandoned classroom held by the fragile and comforting arms of a witch who was more of an owl. She did not know the full story of what happened until much later, and then it was collected from fragments and whispers and overheard conversations. From his muttering on the floor, she could only gather that something was lost to him, and that he would never get it back. He lay sprawled across her lap, soaking her Muggle jeans with tears she did not know where for Cedric, and his parents, and an old man he had met only in a dream.


	5. Chapter 5

When the funeral was over and Hogwarts was a shadow in the distance, Harry was still troubled by Cedric. The trouble did not stop when he had said a temporary goodbye to all his friends but one. The nightmares came frequently, if not every night, loud enough to leak through the walls and rattle Hedwig’s cage. At first, she assumed they were the usual sort of nightmare, and she paid them no mind. He had had nightmares before. Then they began to arrive more frequently, with more intensity, until he was shouting himself into a fit more nights than not. One night, a particularly bad night, he was thrashing so violently in his bed that she could not watch it anymore. She loosed herself from her cage and, not caring anymore who saw, she changed.

She inched herself onto his bed, trying to coax him awake. He wouldn’t rouse, so she began to shake and shove him, but it was no use. It was almost like a trance, these nightmares, but she couldn’t risk shouting any louder with the Dursleys around. So she contented herself to lie next to him and take one of his hands gently in hers. He didn’t seem to notice, nor did he wake. He was still wincing and crying out from the nightmare, screaming for Voldemort not to kill Cedric. Shouting at parents that were no longer there, shouting for a friend who would not return with him. Without anything else to do, she sang to him, as soft as she could manage; the only lullaby she’d ever known. Her father had sung her a song when she was extremely young when she would have bad dreams, which was often. She’d forgotten most of the words, but she trilled the notes and managed “I my loved ones' watch am keeping, All through the night.”

Memories of her father singing to her on her worst nights, when her mother’s moods were at their foulest, overtook her as she sang to him. She kept singing without really hearing her voice, softly into his ear so it was more a vibration than a melody. She didn’t allow herself to cry when the memories came flooding back, and simply rubbed tiny circles into Harry’s hand with her thumb as the memories and the darkness thickened.

She woke with a start at the first signs of morning, the tiniest pods of sunlight streaking through the window. For a moment she simply lay, confused at where she was. Then she remembered crawling on top of Harry’s bed next to him, though she didn’t remember falling asleep. Her hand still had a loose hold on his, no grip, barely a touch. Next to her, Harry was lying still and breathing steadily. He wasn’t shouting anymore, or crying, or thrashing. Peaceful and calm. She didn’t have time to wonder if she’d calmed him before she heard a sound from the hallway and almost jolted back into owl form. She was angry at herself for potential exposure; it was reckless to fall asleep as a witch, to leave herself vulnerable. She knew she would never allow herself to fall asleep like that again, but she no longer knew whether she was scared of getting caught for her own or for Harry’s sake.

 

<><><><> 

 

Though she wouldn’t allow herself to fall asleep in his bed again, she sang to him whenever he had his nightmare. It was slow work; he could not be wakened, and he didn’t instantly fall into a hush of calm sleep. Once or twice it took her several hours to get him to stop shouting. He never once woke while she was singing, and she didn’t tell him about it in the mornings. He seemed less troubled, which was enough. Besides even that, he might ask her where she learned the song, and she would not allow herself to talk about it.

Before he fell asleep, as they always had, he would talk to her spiritedly. It had been an agitating summer for Harry; he kept receiving cryptic letters from Ron and Hermione about things they weren’t allowed to fully discuss. It was making him feel like an outsider. He had always been an outsider – the Boy Who Lived, the Heir of Slytherin, the one who fainted at dementor attacks, the “other” Hogwarts champion, whichever they saw him as – but never from Ron and Hermione. They were his inclusion, the ones who never turned on him even when the rest of the world thought he was dangerous or unstable or archetypal. He could already feel the rest of the school questioning him, could hear the whispers of his presumed insanity. All because _he_ was the one who had had to watch Cedric die.

Now that Ron and Hermione were leaving him on the outside of their plans, his fuse was shorter and he always seemed to be up in arms. Many of the times that he talked to her at night, he would be frustrated and furious, raving about why no one seemed to trust him with any information. Neither of them needed to mention their relationship with each other; it seemed obvious that trust was constant there.

Once Harry was so frustrated with the short and cryptic letters that he told Hedwig to go and get some answers out of Ron and Hermione, and peck them until the letters were long enough. Seeing how upset it was making him, and not really knowing Hermione or Ron herself, she had no quarrel with this instruction. She did feel _slightly_ badly about it when it produced no more fruitful results than usual, but it gave her a grim satisfaction to realize she had helped as best she could.

 Though he was constantly upset, their dynamic remained largely unchanged. One night, late, he was lying on his bed and she was perched on his stomach, cooing softly as he absentmindedly stroked her.

“Can I ask you a question?” he asked.  She cocked her head to one side, an invitation to continue. “Why don’t you always change? At night, when we’re alone, and talking. Or rather, when I’m talking to you?”

She thought about it, for a while. It wasn’t really that she was scared anymore, not of him. The Dursleys didn’t care enough about him to check up on him in his room, either, and their snoring would certainly drown out the little noise she made. No, fear wasn’t the reason, though it had been the reason that kept her an owl for years prior. She was still thinking, still an owl, when panic crept into his voice.

“They can’t sense it, can they? The magic? Like when Dobby was here and I got blamed for underage sorcery?”

Now she hopped off his stomach and changed, sitting next to his legs on the bed. “No, that’s not it,” she said. “Changing, it’s not a spell, or a charm, or an incantation. It’s not even Transfiguration, really. Yes, it is magic, but not the sort of magic that they’re used to detecting. I used to think they could: I only hung around wizarding families so I could change and they wouldn’t notice. But then, there was a time I was flying, and I injured my wing. I couldn’t get anywhere as an owl, and it was too dangerous to leave myself out in the open. So I changed. I expected to have to run, to be instantly seized by officials. But nothing happened.

“After that, I tried it in riskier scenarios. In the open wilderness. In Muggle towns, where magic would seem out of place. Eventually around an underage wizard who was Muggle-born. If they could detect magic, they’d blame it on him, like what happened with you and Dobby. There weren’t any other wizards in the house. But I changed, right in the basement, and no one came for me. It’s different than specific magic, it’s more innate. I think that’s why they want Animagi to register in the first place.”

Harry was visibly relieved. He’d sat up now, and was leaning against the corner where his walls met. “If that’s not the reason, what is?”

Staring at him scrunched up away from her, she thought she knew the reason. “Honestly, I’m not _completely_ sure. I like listening to you talk. I don’t have much to say.” Her brow furrowed, so she sat up straighter. She was used to counteracting instability with pride.

Harry knew that wasn’t the real reason. He was still looking at her with his curious green eyes, waiting for the rest of the answer. The correct answer. His legs were tucked up towards his chest now, and his hands were wrapped around them, interlocking with each other. She waited until she couldn’t bare his gaze anymore.

“If you must know, it’s that.” She gestured sharply at his posture while she said it, anger beginning to bubble just below her composed demeanor. “What you’re doing, right now. Since I changed. Tucking into yourself, inching away from me.”

She looked away from him, not wanting to deal with the look he was probably giving her. “You don’t do that when I’m an owl, you know. You don’t shy away from me, refuse to get to close.  When I’m the other way, we sit together, not just in proximity. When I’m an owl, you’ll stroke my feathers and I’ll nip your hand. It’s almost as if…” She stood up now, and turned to face him, still slunk in his corner. His eyebrows were knitted together, but in confusion or anger or pain, for once she couldn’t tell. “It’s almost as if you’re intimidated by me this way, as if you’re afraid to touch me. Perhaps the reason I don’t change is I like the way you hold me when I haven’t.”

Her composure was closer to breaking than it had been in recent memory, and she stood there breathing heavily and feeling heat and pain assemble behind her eyes. She didn’t cry. She no longer knew if she were able.

“I, er – ” Harry had unwrapped himself, and now the look was definitely confusion, tinged with the slightest bit of panic.

She exhaled furiously. “This is what I mean, Harry. When other people tell you off, you shout right to their face. You go after them, you have a row. I’ve seen you go off on Malfoy, on people giving you trouble at school. Even Ron and Hermione get you shouting when they've irritated you! But with me, you just sit there, flustered. It’s like you’re scared I’ll hit you or something.”

A shiver crawled down her spine, froze her in place, and she instantly regretted that choice of words. That wasn’t true, was it? Hedwig had never dreamed in a million years that she would make someone afraid of being struck by _her_ , trembling in a corner at the sight of _her,_ crying and broken and pathetic because of _her_.

Her face was in her hands now, ragged and forced breaths slipping through her fingers. She tried desperately to control them, to keep her body still. Of course Harry wasn’t afraid of her. Not her boy. He had no reason to be afraid of her. It wasn’t the same as it had been when she was young. She would not become that way. She _had_ not become that way.

She was just about ready to take her head back from her hands, to present herself as calm and whole and perfectly fine like she always did, when she felt something. Something warm and familiar. Harry had gotten up and was standing extraordinarily close to her. He ran his right hand up her back and rested it at the nape of her neck, lightly scratching with two fingers, rubbing gently back and forth. It was his most-often used expression of affection when she was changed. It was what he had been doing minutes before he asked her the question that had nearly broken her down. He wrapped his other hand slowly around her waist and held her in an asymmetrical hug. She dropped her hands slowly from her face and wound them around his back, resting her head against his shoulder.  Holding and being held in a way she hadn’t dared to imagine in at least seven years.

He said nothing to her. A bystander might have though he couldn’t think of anything to say. Someone who didn’t know them might have assumed she was expecting him to talk. In fact, Harry and Hedwig were closer in that moment than they had ever been, sharing their silent connection. The connection, the pulse of primal communication, that had always been constant when they were together. The connection that did not discriminate based on form.

 

<><><><> 

 

They were back home, though it had not been easy getting there. With the hearing and Dumbledore and Grimmauld Place, Hedwig privately thought it had been Harry’s worst end-of-summer yet. She kept expecting to be used to the trouble that always seemed to come for him, but each time it paralyzed her with worry for her boy.

Harry was sitting, leaning against the wall of their room now, Hedwig lying back against his knees.  She was staring at the ceiling, only occasionally flashing her eyes back to the half-healed scars on Harry’s hand. She wanted to peck Dolores Umbridge’s eyes out for doing that to Harry, but when she’d said as much he’d had a fit.

"You can’t do anything!” he’d exclaimed. “She has connections at the Ministry, Hedwig. She’ll find you out. They’ll discover you’re unregistered.” The consequence of that hung unspoken in the air. “It’s too reckless.”

Though she’d thought that it was ironic for Harry to call _her_ reckless, she’d agreed not to do anything about it. The fear in his eyes at the thought was dissuasion enough. Now they were sitting together, Invisibility Cloak within arm’s reach, and Harry was staring at the Marauder’s Map to make sure, checking Umbridge’s office like he did whenever they dared a visit.

“Sitting in her office,” he muttered, breathing heavily. “Probably admiring her stupid kitten plates. No sign of Filch, either.” He threw it down disgruntledly. He was scratching at his wound absentmindedly, making _I must not tell lies_ shine redder.

“Don’t do that,” she scolded him, sitting up and looking down at his hand. A fresh trickle of blood was now leaking down the side of his hand. “You’ll only make it worse.”

He scowled. “ _I_ must not tell lies. Rich coming from that woman.”

“I still want to peck her eyes out for that.”

His scowl softened slightly. “You and me both. She’s the reason I can’t fly anymore. If only my Firebolt showed up on this map, I’d go and get it from her.” He nudged the map carelessly, like he was blaming it for Umbridge. Hedwig knew he wouldn’t actually attempt to find his broom, but the thought of it still made her uneasy.

“Hey,” he said, sitting up straighter. “I’ve just thought of something.”

She only cocked an eyebrow at him.

“The map! Why haven’t I ever seen you on the map?”

Hedwig was briefly puzzled. “Animals don’t show up, do they? That’s why.”

He shook his head. “Animals don’t, but Animagi do. I saw Pettigrew on here when he was still pretending to be Scabbers.”

She bit her lip. Of course, she had never gone to school, didn’t have a wand. But that shouldn’t have mattered – Filch was on the map, and he was a Squib. The map seemed to know everyone at Hogwarts, regardless of how well known they were to the rest of the world. A thought struck her suddenly cold.

“It wouldn’t say Hedwig,” she said softly, staring at the wall. “That’s why you never saw me. You probably assumed I was a witch you didn’t know, even before I told you. The map would have my…real name on it.”

“Your real name,” he whispered. He had nearly forgotten, as she often did, that she had ever had another name. “You said you’d forgotten it. We can find out what it is, if it shows up on the map!” Harry quickly became enthusiastic, grabbing suddenly for the map and training his eyes on their room.

 “No, don’t.” She reached out and grabbed his wrist, panicked. He looked back up at her, but she could see in his eyes that he’d already seen it. It was too late. “Don’t tell me. The only person who ever…my mother was the only one…that’s not my name, Harry, whatever it says on there. That’s just a reminder of a long-dead past, a past I want to stay dead. It’s good that I’ve forgotten it.” She re-folded the map and placed it on the ground, then looked into his eyes. “My name is Hedwig. I’m not her, not what your map says. I’m Harry Potter’s owl.”

He was looking at her so intently, like he was overcome with emotions that he could not explain. She repositioned herself next to him against the wall, leaning against him, and took his hand. It confused him, she could tell, that she didn’t want to remember her past. It confused him that she could be content to live as his owl all these years. For her, it was the least confusing thing in the world; that was its appeal. It was so _simple_. As simple as Harry’s life could be, anyway.

“Hedwig…” his voice was soft, exploratory. “Hedwig, you…”

“Spit it out, Harry.” She couldn’t see his face, but if she had looked over the expression would have put a pit in her stomach.

He took a breath. “You’ve mentioned a few times now, just in passing... I’m worried about you.

She nearly recoiled from the words. “Why on earth are _you_ worried about _me?_ Do you know how much time I spend wondering if you’re even _alive,_ Harry?”

He shifted his weight, but would not allow himself to become the subject of this conversation. “I don’t worry about your survival, Hedwig, I worry about how you’re living.”

She was becoming uncomfortable fast. This was heading down a bridge she had been sure she’d burned. But he pressed on.

“Hedwig…what happened to your parents?”

In an instant, she was away from him, pushing herself the other direction. “No.” She turned to face him, stomach churning at the concern on his face. “No. I’m not going to tell you about that, Harry.  That’s not part of the deal.”

“Deal?” he said, sitting up and looking agitated. “What _deal_? Is that what this is to you, some sort of _contract_?”

“Of course not,” she spat at him. “There are some things I just don’t want to tell you.”

“Why not? I tell you everything,” he said, boring into her with his green eyes. “ _Everything_. Maybe if you told me you would feel better, or I could help –”

“Help?” She scowled. “It’s in the past, Harry. It doesn’t matter. You can’t change it any more than I can.”

“You can’t just ignore it forever, Hedwig. I can see it eating you alive.”

“You think you know what’s eating me alive, Harry?” Rage was bubbling inside her now, and she stood up to look down at him. He stood in return. He was growing, and now he was a mere hairsbreadth shorter than she was.

“I know I do,” he said. “I know you better than anyone. Don’t try to pretend I don’t. But even then, I know less than half of what you know about me. I understand not wanting to tell me at first, but it’s been too long, Hedwig. You’re avoiding it.”

“Harry, you’re a child.” Her voice was calm and low. “You don’t understand. Sometimes things happen in the world, horrible things, and there isn’t a reason, there isn’t a _solution_ , there’s nothing but the pain they leave behind.” She was dangerously close to crying. Her vision began to blur with moisture, but she did not allow it to fall.

“So why do you bother?” he asked, harshly, coming toward her. He was so close that he dropped to a whisper. “Why do you bother trying to make me feel any better when the world is just random pain? If you can’t change the past, why did you ever comfort me? Why did you hold me when Cedric died?”

Her voice was a hiss. “Because you _needed_ me, Harry. I am not you. I don’t _need_ to be comforted, I don’t need to be cradled. I don’t need you to sing me to sleep.” It was meant as an attack. She wanted to bruise him, to make him think he meant less than he did, to make him drop it.

He didn’t recoil with pain. He only got angrier. “You need me more than that, Hedwig. We need _each other_.”

“You’re wrong. I’m _fine_.” All of her rage was pulsing now, through every part of her body, behind her eyes.

“Then why have I never seen you cry before right now?”

She was struck silent. She hadn’t felt the tears escape, hadn’t felt them rolling down her cheek. Her hand rose to her face automatically, trying to wipe away the steady river. The floodgates were open. This wasn’t how she acted. She was composed, prideful, calm. She was the stable one. She did not allow herself to cry, _ever_.  She was too shocked to answer him.

He kept pushing, urgency in his tone. “Why are you hiding from it? Why won’t you tell me?” He was gentle, concerned, but urgent. This was a new kind of despair for her, mixed with anger and coiling through her stomach. “Why are you pretending you’re okay?” She was confused, she was flustered. There was no composure left. She was sputtering, reeling. She felt as if she were being pushed in every direction by cold, unyielding winds, tumbling aimlessly through the sky. “Why are you afraid to tell me?”

She couldn’t take it. Seven years of anger and hate and sadness and fear came tumbling out all at once, and she nearly shouted.

“ _Because I killed them_.”

He froze. Everything was still, utterly still, until her tears turned to outright sobs, and she folded into herself, becoming a ball on the ground. She shook as the words poured from her. “Not on purpose. I didn’t mean to. But my mother, she was angry. It was one of the bad days. She was coming at me, and I backed into a corner, and I was so _scared_ , Harry. I was so angry and frightened and I couldn’t take it anymore, I couldn’t let her, not again, and my father’s wand was on the table. I picked it up, and I pointed it at her, and I was just trying to get away, just trying to make her stop, make her leave me alone, make her leave me and my father alone.

“I just pointed it at her, I didn’t cast a spell, not on purpose. But everything I felt just went right through his wand, and there was a flash of light, and she was on the ground.” The sobs were breaking into her speech now, so each word came out broken and fragile. “And when she fell I saw him, standing behind her. He’d just walked in, and he was trying to separate us, like he always did. He was coming to hold me and protect me. And he looked right at me, so shocked, and he fell, too. I killed them, Harry. I killed him. I watched him die in front of me, when he was only trying to protect me.” Harry’s arms were around her now, and she was shaking his whole body with her sobs. “I didn’t mean to, I didn’t want to, but I couldn’t help it, I just wanted to _hurt_ her, to make her stop. I never wanted to hurt him. I didn’t mean to. I snapped the wand after that, threw it out the window. I wanted to go back in time, so badly, I wanted to make it okay and have him there. And I had such nightmares, Harry, after I started running, but he wasn’t there, no one was there. No one was ever there. What’s the point of crying when there’s no one to tell you it will be all right?”

Harry sat on the ground beside her, and she curled into him like they were two parts of the same person, and she cried on his shoulders. She cried freely until her head ached, shaking with sobs and quivering without control. He held her silently, gently stroking her hair and watching the most composed person he had ever met break utterly. He whispered to her that it would be all right, that everything would be all right. She felt the guilt like great gusts of wind, blowing her away from everything she had tried to create with her boy. She could not have known that he was not disgusted with her, and he was not appalled by her. He did not even pity her. Hedwig was grievously unaware that in that moment, Harry Potter’s only definable emotion was love.

 

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

Hedwig was nervous on the flight back, but she didn’t know until too late that she had good reason to be. She had gone off to take something to Sirius, a letter. She enjoyed the journey, except that it parted her from the ability to watch over Harry. Now she was heading home, short response waving on her leg, ready to see Harry for the first time in weeks. But she was not naïve. She knew there weren’t many snowy owls in Britain, and she knew that being associated with the Boy Who Lived was hardly inconspicuous. Umbridge had been cracking down recently, at least they suspected, and Hedwig was nervous of what she might do.

Still, she was almost to the Owlery, almost home free. She’d hide the mail, as usual, until Harry was out of class, and then it would be easy. She just had to make it a short distance more. Unfortunately, life for her was never so simple. She was back in the Owlery, zooming toward the cubby where she made her home. Suddenly there was something acting against her, like a wind pushing her in the opposite direction. She flapped furiously against it, trying to make her way back to her perch, but it was too strong. It was only when she could resist no longer that she was whirled around and saw that it was no wind: it was magic. Dolores Umbridge was standing on the floor of the Owlery, wand pointed smugly at Hedwig.  Hedwig redoubled her efforts to escape the pull of the spell, but it was too much. She was flying toward the woman she hated with ever increasing speed.

Naturally, as soon as Umbridge got her grubby hands on her, Hedwig attacked. She thrashed wildly, pecking and scratching and just dying to get a go at Umbridge’s eyes. She couldn’t manage more than a minute of struggling, however, before Umbridge had angrily muttered something else and Hedwig was forced to remain completely still. Umbridge’s eyes shone with evil glee as she ripped the letter, Sirius’s, from Hedwig’s leg and tore it open. _No, no, no_ …Hedwig thought, but it was no use. She was already scanning the page voraciously, then a toadish look of triumph crossed her scrunched face. “I’ve got you now, Potter,” she squeaked. She re-sealed the envelope with magic and retied it to Hedwig’s leg, who was now struggling twice as hard but not moving an inch. She practically dropped Hedwig to the ground as she fled the room in girlish delight.

Hedwig was in pain. Something was wrong with her wing, it was bent at a horrible angle. The spell had not worn off, so she could only lie there in agony, hoping it would be over. Still, the only thought in her head was to warn Harry. She had to tell him about Umbridge. She became more and more frustrated as she was immobilized, and more and more consumed with the pain. Normally she would change when she was injured: it was easier to tend to herself as human than as an owl. But she couldn’t here, and she didn’t know if the spell would allow her to in any case. She was lying on her lopsided wing, bent under her. She was used to pain, she had experienced it before, but when she was also consumed by such urgency it became unbearable.

She consistently tried to move, struggled against the spell. Spells could be broken, couldn’t they? At the very least, they wore off. She was determined that as soon as this one had ceased working she would be up, off. Still nothing. The pain was growing now, but as she struggled against it, she felt the slightest give. It was wearing off! She thrashed against the spell, moving more and more until she finally regained full faculty. She immediately flew out the window to find her boy.

He was in class right now, surely. History of Magic, if she remembered correctly. Professor Binns’s classroom had a window. If she could just get to him, persuade him to take her outside, she could warn him. She fluttered to his window and rapped on the glass. Harry was inside, falling asleep as usual. She rapped harder, but no one noticed. On the third try, Hermione looked up from her steady stream of notes to see her. Hermione looked briefly puzzled, then nudged Harry. He didn’t respond. _Harry, please, come on_. Hermione tried again, and he finally looked up.

Then he was at the window, and Hedwig was extraordinarily relieved.  When he opened it, she hopped hurriedly inside. _I need to talk to you, Harry_ , she tried to say. _Now_. Harry took her back to his desk and set her in his lap, looking curiously at the letter attached to her leg. She was impatient. Then there was worry in his eyes: he had noticed the injury. She had nearly forgotten it. When he touched her wing she recoiled automatically, but hooted reproachfully. _Harry, that’s not important right now_. He was distressed, though – he was telling Ron and Hermione that she was hurt. Next thing Hedwig knew, Harry had excused himself and they were going together down the hallway.

She was nervous, but as long as she could tell him everything would be fine. She knew it would kill him if anything happened to Sirius. To her horror, he did not veer toward their room. Instead he went downstairs, the opposite direction.

“It’s okay, Hedwig, you’re going to be fine. I’m going to take you to Professor Grubbly-Plank and she’ll sort it out.”

 _No, Harry, I need to warn you…_ but she had no way to tell him as an owl, and she could hardly change in the hall. There was nothing she could do. The pain was worsening in her wing, and it began to throb as he ran more urgently.

            He had trouble with the gargoyles, but Professor McGonagall came out before long. Now Hedwig had no chance to change. Before she knew what was going on, Harry had handed her to Professor Grubbly-Plank, who was saying something about thestrals. She threw Harry one last desperate look as he left, but he only looked at her with concern and went the other way. She would have to tell him later. But would it be too late then? Would Umbridge catch Sirius? She didn’t have too long to worry about it before the pain overcame her, and the world went dark.

 

<><><><> 

 

Dobby was a curious creature, one that might have irritated Hedwig if she hadn’t liked him so well. He was exceedingly kind to her and always seemed to be in a pleasant mood. It was his job to take Hedwig back to Harry, though she could have easily found the way herself. Professor Grubbly-Plank had also been kind to her, and her wing was fully recovered after a few days in her care. Hedwig knew that the meeting with Sirius had passed and there was nothing she could do about it, but she could not push it from her mind.

They found Harry asleep in the common room. He was muttering to himself, thrashing. It wasn’t his usual nightmare, it wasn’t about Cedric. This was something different. It took everything Hedwig had not to change, not to hold his hand and sing “All Through the Night.” Dobby shook him awake, however, and soon they were talking. Harry looked at her warmly; he was pleased to see she was okay. She longed to talk to him, but he and Dobby became engaged. Harry was enthusiastically talking with him about something called the Room of Requirement.

After what seemed to her like ages, Dobby was gone, and Hedwig abandoned caution. She changed in front of him, and he immediately went to embrace her, holding her tighter than was strictly comfortable. “You’re okay?” he asked

“Perfect,” she said. “What about Sirius?”

He blinked. “Sirius?”

Her tone was urgent. “Is he okay? Did she get him?”

Harry realized all at once what she meant. “No, no she didn’t. He escaped just in time. How did you know about that?”

“She took the letter from me.”

 “So Umbridge _is_ intercepting my mail!” he cried, angry now. “Hermione was right! That toad!”

Hedwig nodded. “That’s why I went to find you, I wanted to tell you, but you took me to Grubbly-Plank before I had the chance.”

His eyes darted quickly to her arm before he could stop them. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know. I thought you came to class because you were hurt.”

She was touched by his concern, though she should have expected it by now. “I was hurt, Harry, but warning you was more important.”

“It’s all okay, now. Sirius wasn’t caught by Umbridge, and she can’t prove it was him in the fire or that anyone was even _there_. It worked out.”

Hedwig sighed with relief. She stroked her once-injured arm lightly, though it felt fine now. Once she was free to relax about Sirius, she could think about the rest of it. At the time, Harry had seemed infuriating to her – he wasn’t understanding, he wasn’t doing what she wanted. Looking back, he had been concerned and incredibly sweet.

“Harry…” She looked at him. He was fully as tall as her now, staring straight into her eyes. “Thank you, for what you did. You took care of me.”

Harry looked almost bewildered. “Of course I took care of you, Hedwig. What else would I do?” He fist clenched suddenly. “I’ll kill her for hurting you.”

And staring, eye to eye, at the boy she had met first when he was eleven years old, she saw his growth. Bur more than that, she saw that he had grown with her, that they were part of each other. She looked at the boy – the young man – who would not risk hurting Umbridge when she had tormented _him_ , incensed at the notion of Umbridge causing pain to _her_ , and she was overflowed all at once with emotion. She swelled with pride and gratitude and friendship and love, and she wrapped her arms around him and kissed him.

He was shocked, utterly, at first. His arms flew up at his sides almost defensively, then wrapped around her. He fell into the kiss then, with unexpected eagerness. He was actively kissing her, pressing his body into hers. She laced her fingers through his hair, hot and chilled all at once. She had never kissed a boy. She had never kissed _her_ boy. It was the closest thing she had done to magic in seven years.

He was kissing her with such fervor that she stumbled backwards into the wall, and suddenly she remembered where they were. This was the common room. Anyone could walk in. She drew away sharply, almost mid-kiss.  She placed a hand over his mouth, more to stop herself than him. “Not here.”

He nodded reluctantly, breathing hard. They stood for a moment in silence, sending pulses through the air like they always did. They knew that the only reasonable course of action was for him to go to his bed and her to hers. “Come with me,” he said, nodding upwards toward the dormitory. She thought about it for a second, wanting to say yes immediately. She had promised herself that she would never fall asleep as a human again. But there was no need for her to. Slowly, after as long a pause as she could manage, she nodded. He took her hand lightly, casually, and led her upstairs, into a dormitory of sleeping boys.

She lay next to him in his bed, both of them still fully clothed. He went to kiss her, went to restart what they’d stopped downstairs, but she pulled away.

“There are people around,” she said, pointing at Ron who was snoring only a few feet away. Harry looked shocked; hurt, even. There was a shattered look in his eyes, like he’d faced ultimate rejection. Hedwig’s stomach did an uncomfortable little somersault. “Harry, when I said not here, I didn’t mean upstairs.”

He looked at her calmly, but characteristically bad at masking his emotions. He was straddled somewhere between anger and hurt now.  “What did you mean?”

“I mean later, somewhere else,” she said. She was beginning to panic. She was beginning to wonder what he expected, what _she_ expected. “Harry, just lie with me, like we always have.” She took his hand consolingly, she hoped, and scooted under his covers. He joined her there, contenting himself with that arrangement. They didn’t speak. They held hands in his bed, like she did when she sang to him, like when he was having his nightmares. Eventually, his breathing became slow and even, and his grip slackened. She held his hand tighter. She wouldn’t fall asleep – she had sworn that wouldn’t happen again.

After an hour or so, when she was sure he was fully unconscious, she unwound her hand from his. She changed next to him and slowly fell asleep, as herself, but not the way he expected. She woke up after him for once, and in the morning, four-poster curtains drawn, she awoke to the sight of him smiling at her like she wasn’t an owl.

 

<><><><> 

 

They agreed that morning that they needed to meet in their room less frequently. The mail incident had rattled Hedwig more than she let on. Who knew what Umbridge would try next? Still, Hedwig would occasionally flutter up to the dormitory at night and perch next to Harry, and they began losing interest in stopping themselves. Harry seemed more and more eager to take the risk, and it alarmed Hedwig. He was hotheaded enough without provocation. She was worried that he would become increasingly reckless, that he would swell at the chance to defy authority. There was already the D.A., and while she agreed with the concept, she thought it was quite enough risk to perform right under Umbridge’s nose.

Nevertheless, her boy did not seem to think so. He came to get her just two weeks after that morning, and she followed him reluctantly. When they got into the room, she changed, irritated, ready to tell him off for recklessness. She turned around and Harry was suddenly very close to her, and within an instant he was kissing her again. Her eyes widened and she only lingered for a moment before pulling away.

“Hello to you, too,” she muttered.

“What’s wrong?” Harry was red in the cheeks and grinning. He looked to her like a young child on Christmas morning.

“This, Harry,” she whispered overquietly. “We agreed we wouldn’t do this, not as much.”

“It’s been ages,” he said, waving it off casually and attempting to take her hands. She resisted.

“It’s been two weeks. You’re bound to get caught.”

He rolled his eyes at her. She raised her eyebrows at that; _he_ was exasperated with _her_? “It’s fine, Hedwig, I’ve got the map, we’re being safe.”

“There’s no such thing as safe anymore, not with her around.” She took a deliberate step away from him. At this he got visibly angrier.

“When has my life ever been _safe_?” he fumed. “I haven’t been _safe_ since the moment I was born. And you? Your life hasn’t exactly been nonviolent either, not with—”

He stopped himself, but it was too late, her blood had already frozen. Still, she would not break down today. She was composed again, the usual Hedwig. She did not need his comfort as much as he needed her guidance, and she pushed her father to the back of her mind.

“Harry, that’s exactly the reason we _shouldn’t_ be reckless. You’re in enough danger.”

He kicked at the wall. “I’m sick of my life being put on hold because of _danger_ ,” he whisper-yelled. “Harry, you can’t, you’re too young, Harry, you could get hurt, Harry, let the adults handle it.” He exhaled. “I want to _do_ something.”

“You are doing something,” she replied, keeping her voice steady but stern. “You’ve got the D.A.  But this? Coming to see me isn’t _doing_ anything, and it’s not worth it.”

She could almost feel his anger leave him. Now the hurt was back. The shattered look she’d seen when she last refused him was now a vibe, radiating off him. He spoke without looking at her. “You don’t think it’s worth a little risk to see me?”

She inhaled slowly. “I don’t think seeing you while Umbridge is around is worth losing you, Harry. I don’t.”

He sputtered for a moment, unsure how to respond. “Why do you always feel like you need to protect me?” he said. “I can take care of myself.”

Her composure was slipping, but she held it in place like prey between her claws. “I know that, Harry, but I’m incredibly selfish. Losing you would kill me, and I’m doing everything I can to avoid that.”

“And what about losing me here? What about _me_ losing _you_ because there’s no way to see you?”

“I’ll still be here when Umbridge is gone from Hogwarts, Harry, and that will happen. And you won’t _lose_ me, I’ll still come to your dormitory, I’ll still see you at meals. Just…not here.”

The echo of the words she’d spoken to him in the dormitory seemed to ring a little louder than the rest of her statement. “That’s great,” he muttered. “But what about…?”

It took her a moment to realize he meant the rest of it. He meant the unfinished kiss they had left in the common room, the one he intended to complete several times over.

She was very still. “So that’s why you’ve come to see me again, so soon? Just for that?” He was staring at her, confused. He didn’t understand what the problem was. She had kissed _him_ , after all. He could not understand her hesitancy. “Is that the only reason for you to come, now?”

His voice came out softly and confused. “Isn’t that – don’t you want…?”

“I wanted to feel close to you, Harry. I wanted to show you that I cared for you. I didn’t want this.”

He appeared to stop breathing. “Hedwig, I don’t understand.”

“Harry, maybe that wasn’t the best idea. I was really emotional that night, I had just been injured, I hadn’t seen you in days, I was worried about Sirius…I wasn’t thinking straight.”

The shattered look returned, doubled. “You weren’t…thinking straight?”

Now it was her turn to be flustered by her own words. But looking in his eyes, watching him look at her, she did not see romance. She saw love, but a love defined by bond, and friendship, and closeness, and awe. Not the kind of romance she knew he deserved. Not the kind of romance that would be good for him. “You mean the world to me, Harry. You are the only reason I have a home, the only reason I stay in one place. And I wasn’t lying; if I lost you, it would kill me. But I think continuing down this road would be another form of losing you.”

He was utterly still. “What does that mean? Do you not…like me?”

She closed her eyes, and would not remember the shape of his face or the feel of his lips. “Of course I do, Harry. That’s not why I’m saying no. I’m saying no because it would hurt us. It would hurt _you_. You don’t want to date me, Harry. You think you do, but it would be messy and complicated and dangerous.”

He rubbed the back of his neck furiously. “So this is because of the danger, is it? If everything was safe it would be different?” His eyes were full of the smallest, feeblest hope, and she had to look away from them to shake her head no.

“Harry, I love you. I will never leave you. That hasn’t changed.” She approached him slowly and wrapped her arms around him. He was still processing, unmoving. “Someday you’ll realize this was the best choice.” She held him tighter, and slowly, oh so slowly, he raised his arms to hold her, too.

She smiled at him, a small and gentle smile. He would not return it, but she held him to show him that nothing was different, that they were still as close as they had ever been. His voice cracked slightly. “What am I supposed to do until then?”

She laughed, leaning her head against his. “Didn’t you tell me once you fancied Cho Chang?”

 

<><><><> 

 

She flew up to the dormitory more often after that, going to see him more than occasionally. An owl that flew up to its owner’s bedroom was strange, perhaps, but not suspicious. It was not a punishable offense. Besides, she was sure no one ever saw her.

He didn’t speak to her the first few times, and she knew why. He had become uncomfortable again. He was readjusting himself. She hated to see him upset by it more than she admitted to herself, but she didn’t yield on her refusal to change. Eventually, he came around. Eventually, he told her about what was happening with him and Cho Chang.

 And she knew then that she had made the right choice. As soon as he kissed Cho around Christmas, their relationship snapped back into place. He would talk to her delightedly at night, in a whisper just under Ron’s snoring. He would gently scratch her neck like he used to, and she would listen to him and hoot contentedly. Cho was apparently what he needed, and Hedwig was glad that he was happy. She was always glad to see him happy, even if listening to him talk about it made her stomach do acrobatics.

He was laughing again, which was something. Laughing despite the ominous cloud that seemed to be rolling toward him, despite the unusual nightmares, despite everything. That is, until the Occlumency started. He became edgier and edgier, sleeping more fitfully each night even though he was supposed to be emptying his mind. She was distressed by this, but it hadn’t occurred to her to be distressed for her own sake until one night when he came straight to the Owlery after his lesson.

She flew down to see him, but wouldn’t move once she reached his level. She wanted to be clear.

“Look, I didn’t come to get you to change, all right? I just had to tell you.”

Her heart picked up speed, but as she was she couldn’t do much but listen.

“He almost got to you. Snape. He was digging through my mind and he almost got to _you_. I haven’t been very good at Occlumency at all, but I’ve been keeping that, but he almost got there. He was about to see you.”

Hedwig felt as if she were frozen to the perch. It would not be beneath Snape to turn her in, for no real personal gain. Her mind raced toward the consequences, toward Azkaban and loneliness, before she wrenched it backward.   _He hasn’t seen anything. He doesn’t know_.

“Usually I just throw up something different if he’s ever getting close – he saw Cho and me kissing, once.” Harry looked at the ground as he said this, and was determined not to show Hedwig that this embarrassed him. “But today he was going so deep, he was at the edge of a memory, of us at Privet Drive actually, eating birthday cake…I didn’t let him. I just revolted, and I ended up in _his_ memory instead.”

Now Hedwig was dying to change, to _really_ talk to him. But she wouldn’t break her own rule. What if Snape _had_ seen her? There would be no way to explain away a second person at Privet Drive, no way to claim it was some student Snape had never bothered to notice. What if he had gotten there?

Harry seemed to answer the questions she couldn’t say. “I don’t think he saw, Hedwig. I’m pretty sure he forgot all about it when I ended up in _his_ head. It seemed like a pretty nasty one…” He trailed off again. He was red in the face, the way he got when he’d recently been shouting. “It was my dad…never mind. The point is, I don’t think he got to you. I wouldn’t let him. But I thought you should know.”

He was scared for her. It was in his eyes. He didn’t care about Snape embarrassing him with his memories, he cared about her safety. Hedwig refused to believe she was in danger. Her boy had said that Snape hadn’t gotten through, and she trusted him. She trusted him to look after her, as she had always looked after him. She wanted to ask about his father, to see what had bothered him in Snape’s memory, but he said a brief nonverbal goodbye and was gone.

 

<><><><> 

One of her worst fears came to pass.

This time, it was different. This time, she never got the full story. There were no whispers, there were no rumors. There was only pain, pain that she did not know how to deal with. His exams had been making him anxious, but this was something different. Harry came back to school bloodied and worn, looking empty. There was no sadness, or anger in him now. Nothing. He talked to Dumbledore for a long time in his office, something he hadn’t been able to do all year. And when he emerged, and she saw him later, he had the same angry red in his face, and the same wet sadness in his eyes, but he didn’t speak.

It was when he was meant to be at the end of term feast that he first spoke to her about it at all. He showed up in the Owlery and looked dolefully up at her. She knew that he would not accept a one-way conversation this time. But Umbridge was gone, somehow. It had all been a rush, a whir, a swirl of event of which Hedwig could merely glance at the fringe. He needed her now, and she was prepared to risk everything for that. He looked up at her, less empty than before, and said one single, soft word. “Please.”

That was it. She flew straight past him, toward their room, into the back corner where they had least chance of being seen. She had changed before he was even in the room. She turned to face him, expected him to say something. Expected him to tell her what was wrong. Instead he merely came up and embraced her, squeezing her so hard it nearly hurt. She hugged him back, fiercely, and together they sort of sank to the ground. Harry did not cry in great heaving sobs like he had with Cedric. He did not murmur or shout snippets of phrases. Instead he cried a steady stream of tears, a hopeless river of his final discovery that his godfather was gone. Hedwig held onto him tighter as he cried into her, not knowing the reason. He was too tall now to fit in her lap comfortably, but he leaned against her all the same, like a frightened child. She ran her hand lovingly along his neck and through his hair, but said nothing.

It was that last smidge of hope, that last chance that he’d been clinging to, that had kept Harry from crying about it. Now there was nothing to hold on to, and he felt like he was falling. He needed someone to catch him. So Hedwig held him, and part of her wanted to cry, too, but she held fast. She took her boy in his arms and didn’t doubt him, or question him, or fear him, or idolize him.  When the sunlight was finally fading through the window, and they began to hear the rumbles of students going to finish their last-minute packing, Harry stood up. His head hurt from crying, but he felt less empty from the loss of water. Hedwig gave him one last hug, and from her shoulder, she heard a muffled whisper.   
“Sirius.”

That was the last time they spoke of it. 


	7. Chapter 7

Hedwig stretched her legs through to the toes. She’d never thought she could miss being human, but it had been a long year without it, and she suddenly wasn’t as used to constantly being an owl. She lay across Harry’s bed while he was rummaging around frantically. Moonlight was shining through the window, and he wasn’t being as quiet as he ought to have been. Harry was walking circles around his opened, but empty trunk.

“Just pack,” she scolded him. “He’s going to come.”

Harry stared again at the letter from Dumbledore, telling him that the Headmaster was going to come and take Harry to the Burrow mere hours from now. He shook his head. “If he doesn’t, I’ll have to unpack everything for the rest of the summer here. It would be unbearable.”

Hedwig rolled her eyes and sat up. “He’s going to come, I feel it. Besides, now you’re just going to throw everything in your trunk at random when he does come. You’re bound to lose something.”

“When have I ever lost anything?” he retorted, taking a seat in his chair but still fidgeting.

“Loads of times, Harry, you just never noticed because _I_ always kept track.”

“Well thanks, I guess.” He was fiddling with the letter now, rolling it back and forth in his palm.

“ _He’s going to come_.”

He just shot her a look, an “I can’t take that risk” sort of look, and she rolled her eyes again. He was stubborn. She guessed that was one of the things she liked about him, though it drove her mad. They were often both too stubborn to deal with each other.

“Have it your way, but when Dumbledore shows up, I am going to be ready.” She gave him a slightly condescending look as she changed, and fluttered into the open cage. She pulled the door closed with her beak and waited for him to latch it.

He grinned at her, but got up and shut the cage. “If he doesn’t come, I’m not letting you out of there.”

She stared right at him. _I dare you_.

When Harry had fallen asleep in his chair, snoring and oblivious to Hedwig’s attempts to wake him, Dumbledore showed up precisely on time. Harry jolted awake and began to run around the room, throwing objects randomly into his trunk. Hedwig hooted gloatingly, and he just looked briefly at her as he ran around. “You win.”

In all honesty, he was too excited about the prospect to care much that she’d been right. They were going to the Burrow, and not even an injury to Harry’s pride could spoil that.

 

<><><><> 

 

"What do you think of Dean Thomas?”

Harry and Hedwig were sitting in their room again, Hedwig staring out the window and thinking of flying despite the dreary rain, and Harry sitting on a table playing with his Invisibility Cloak.

“I’m sorry?” she said, turning to raise an eyebrow at him.

“You know, Dean Thomas. Is he…do you think he’s…y’know, handsome?”

Hedwig stared at him. She considered for a moment. “I…suppose, yes.”

Harry frowned and stared down at his cloak. She backpedaled. “Or not? What is this about?”

“It’s nothing.” He looked away from her, at the opposite wall.

“Harry, it’s me.”

He turned his head around, and exhaled. When he spoke, it was a soft, ashamed sort of voice. “It’s Ginny. She’s dating Dean, and I don’t understand why.”

Hedwig had to suppress a laugh. The sudden interest in Dean’s looks instantly made more sense. She had been aware of Harry’s pining after Ginny for the better part of this year. He’d been talking about her more, and occasionally when she saw him at breakfast she’d catch him staring at Ginny while he ate.

“You like her,” she said, smiling. It wasn’t a question.

He threw his Cloak aside. “No, that’s not it, no, I just wonder what she _sees_ in him is all…”

“Oh, stop, Harry. You can’t fool me. We know each other too well for lies.”

“You fooled me into thinking you were an owl for two years,” he pointed out.

She shoved him playfully. “That wasn’t a lie. I _am_ an owl.” He laughed slightly, then looked down at his hands. She sat next to him and spoke more softly.

“They’ll break up, you know. Not even because they aren’t getting on that well, just because she’s fifteen. It’s bound to happen sooner or later. And when it does, you just have to do something about it.”

He groaned. “Like what? The only date I’ve ever had was with Cho, and that was a disaster! The only other thing even _close_ was…” He trailed off like the unfinished kiss that still hung in the Gryffindor common room. The one that an ever-smaller part of Harry still wished they could go back to. The one that Hedwig would never admit she missed.

“It was a disaster with Cho because it wasn’t right. Also because you’re terrible with girls, but mostly it just wasn’t right.” She took his hand. “It’s not like I have so much experience, either. I’d say just follow your heart. When the time comes, seize it. Girls like spontaneity, anyway.”

“I hope so,” he muttered. “Because there is no way I can plan anything that won’t make me look like a total git.”

She laughed softly, leaning her head against his shoulder. He was sixteen now, almost of age. He seemed to have stopped growing taller, but there as a new sort of maturity in him now, something she couldn’t measure. “You’re way better than Dean Thomas, Harry. Once Ginny realizes that for sure you’ll have no problem.”

 

<><><><> 

 

Hedwig felt the commotion before she heard it, and well before she saw it. There was a great rumbling in the Owlery, a shifting of feathers, a disconcerted hooting from every corner and every perch. Her instincts were telling her that something was wrong, like a thunderstorm brewing or an earthquake building. The other owls felt it too – they became agitated, trying too hard to stay still.

Then there was the noise. Shouts from downstairs, though it was too late for shouting. Running footsteps, a few shrieks. And then the unmistakable sound of spells being cast. Hedwig’s whole body tensed; something was very wrong. She took off immediately for the highest window, trying to catch a glimpse of something, of _anything_. Then she saw it, high and shimmering in the sky. Though it was her first time bearing actual witness, she had heard it described often enough to realize she was staring directly at the Dark Mark.

She was diving before she even realized it. There were Death Eaters around, maybe Voldemort himself. That’s what the commotion was. There’d been a breach at Hogwarts. She didn’t care how, or when, or who, or even what they wanted. She only cared about finding Harry. She flew first to Gryffindor Tower, rapped on the dormitory window, but no one answered. Only Neville seemed to be in, flying past in a panic, grabbing his wand and pulling up his pajama bottoms. No Harry.

Where could he be? Knowing him, he was somewhere in the fight. He was throwing himself into danger. She flew back in through the open Owlery window, past the terrified barks of the other owls. The hallways were already chaos. Jets of light flying this way and that, Death Eaters trampling after students Hedwig recognized. But no Harry. She expected him to be leading the charge, but he was nowhere in sight. She dodged a jet of light and dove farther down, hitting herself on the floor of the corridor and skidding along. She got up slowly, and took off wobbling. That was when she saw a flash of red – not a spell, but someone’s hair. _Ginny. He’ll be with Ginny._

She followed Ginny, who was running to take a defensive position against a fierce looking Death Eater she was dueling. They traded spells, and Ginny was miraculously unharmed as she sent a Stunner straight to his chest and knocked him clean over. But Harry didn’t appear to be with her. Hedwig flew over, just to make sure, but Ginny was up and running away again. “Hedwig?” Her eyes widened and she briefly stopped. “Hedwig, get out of here!” Hedwig followed Ginny anyway, convinced she would be going wherever Harry was. It was like Ginny understood her, in that moment, because she responded. “Hedwig, Harry’s not here! Get out of the battle!” And she ran off.

Hedwig stopped, hovering in midair. What did she mean, Harry wasn’t here? Where would he be? He’d be in the fight, he’d be _doing_ something…no….no, he _was_ doing something. He’d gone off with Dumbledore. He had told her earlier, but she had forgotten. It was possible he wasn’t even in the castle. Wherever he was, surely he was with Dumbledore. Surely he was safe.

As she hung suspended, she saw several figures rush past her, coming out of the Astronomy Tower. They were mostly Death Eaters, casting curses as they ran. It looked like they were fleeing. _Have we won?_ she thought. _Is Harry okay?_ Among them, Severus Snape ran fastest of all, sprinting down the corridor and deflecting spells thrown at him.  When he was out of sight, Harry came bounding down the stairs. Thank Merlin, he didn’t look hurt, but he was pulsing with rage. He sprinted after the Death Eaters, shouting.

Hedwig snapped herself out of the trance. Harry was going to do something stupid. He was going to get himself killed. She flew after him, down the corridor, speeding through the air, but she could not catch him. She had never seen him move this fast. Suddenly they were on the grounds, and Harry was giving chase and throwing spells, until Snape was forced to turn and face him. They were having a confrontation, shouting and dueling. Hedwig did not know what she could do. She thought maybe she could distract Snape long enough to help, but she didn’t know if it would do any good – she only knew that Harry was too angry to realize that he could not win this fight.

It was just when she was scrambling for any way to help that she spotted him – Buckbeak was circling Hagrid’s hut, which had gone up in flames under a Death Eater’s curse. She raced toward him. Buckbeak knew Harry; Buckbeak owed Harry his freedom. She barked as loudly as she could manage, praying he would hear her. _Buckbeak! BUCKBEAK!_

He stopped circling briefly to look at her, eyes shining with rage for Hagrid. She only had to say one word: _Harry!_ He looked downward, where Harry was sprawled on the ground, scrambling for his wand. They were still yelling, but Hedwig could not make out the words. Snape threw another curse at Harry, and he cradled his face and screamed in agony. Buckbeak dove with a mighty shriek and scratched wildly at Snape. He cried out in terror and ran for the gates. Harry was safe. He would be okay. Even now, as Hedwig looked back to her boy, he was stumbling towards Hagrid’s hut. She flew after Buckbeak, who was chasing Snape to the Hogwarts gate. As soon as the wizard reached it, he Disapparated and was gone. Buckbeak made a discontented noise, but slowed his speed. Hedwig caught up to him, utterly out of breath.

 _Thank you_ , she said. _Thank you_.

He merely looked to her and inclined his head slightly, then flew back toward Hagrid. Hedwig tried to follow after him, but lost speed. She was exhausted, and losing altitude. She found Harry enchanting jets of water onto Hagrid’s burning hut, and glided slowly to the ground. Harry saw her, and his eyes went wide. She saw him experience shock, then relief, then pain, though she did not know exactly why. While Hagrid was distracted with one side of the house, Harry approached Hedwig cautiously.

“Are you all right? Are you okay? Did they hurt you?” She had never seen him so worried. She hooted softly, affirmatively, and hopped onto his arm. He stroked her feathers, and stole a glance back toward Hagrid. “You look exhausted. Rest a while, go back to the Owlery. There’ll be –” he choked momentarily. “There will be things I have to do. I’ll come and get you when it’s over.” She nipped his shoulder affectionately, her silent thanks that he was alive, that he was okay. He smiled at her and sent her off, where she flew gratefully back to the Owlery.

She tried to wait up for him, but there had been too much excitement. She woke instead to the soft sound of his slippers on the Owlery floor, and his gentle call of “Hedwig!” Immediately she was concerned again. She felt suddenly as if she was just waking up to the chaos. It took her a moment to realize she’d already found Harry, and they were going to be okay.

When they were in their room again, and she was changed back, she held him tight. “I’m so glad you’re okay,” she muttered into his shoulder. “I was worried, I couldn’t find you, I thought you’d be with Ginny but you weren’t. And you! Picking a fight with Snape! You know you can’t beat him.” Her tone was angry, but she took a step back to look at him, to make sure he was okay. He did not seem happy to be alive. His mouth was a hard, thin line. She put a hand on his shoulder, regretted scolding him. “Hey, it’s okay, Harry, you’re okay now.”

He spoke in a deadpan. “Dumbledore’s dead.”

Hedwig had not known Cedric. Hedwig had only thought of Harry when she had heard of Sirius. This, this was different. It was like a brick in her stomach. Dumbledore had been Harry’s ultimate hope. He had been _Hedwig_ ’s ultimate hope. He was the reason that Hogwarts was safe, he was the reason that good could triumph over evil. He cared about Harry nearly as much as she did. The thought of him gone, just _absent_ from their world…it was too much.

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “No, he can’t be. He can’t.”

Harry was still emotionless, staring with empty sort of eyes. “I watched Snape kill him.”

Suddenly it made sense. Harry’s reckless running after Snape. The shouting, the spells, the disregard for his own safety. Snape had killed Dumbledore. Snape had _killed_  Dumbledore. She had been wrong – everything was not okay. Harry had come out of it alive, but Dumbledore – the one thing that had seemed permanent, stable, constant – Dumbledore was dead.

For the second time since Harry had known her, Hedwig cried. It did not take her by surprise this time: she felt the tears coming, like a wave building behind her eyes. Harry put his arms around her gently, and she wept into his shoulder. “This isn’t right,” she said. “It’s not right.”

Harry had grieved several times with several people tonight alone, but now he felt it differently. He cried with her, spilling tears into Hedwig’s blonde hair and onto her bony shoulders. For the first time, Hedwig was not holding Harry while he broke down, nor was Harry holding Hedwig. They stood in the center of their room, holding each other, crying together, only supported by their mutual leaning. Neither was composed, neither was stable. They held on to each other for their very lives, crying for one of only two things they had always been sure would be there. The echoes of Fawkes’s mourning song could still be heard on the grounds, and with every melancholic note, they held tighter. 


	8. Chapter 8

Hedwig knew, of course, that they weren’t returning to Hogwarts.  It was too late to go back to school. Dumbledore…he could not take care of them anymore. There was business to take care of. Still, despite Harry’s long explanations of the Horcruxes, she felt she was going back home. It was odd for her, to be sitting in Harry’s bedroom at Privet Drive, knowing she was never going back to Hogwarts. But if they could find Voldemort, if they could destroy all the Horcruxes, then Harry might have a chance to be safe. They might have a chance to stop worrying. She might never have to sing him to sleep again.

He was rummaging with his stuff again, like he did every summer, usually hastily. This time, though, there was a great deal being left behind. He was sorting things from his trunk into things he’d need and things he wouldn’t. She was sitting on the desk watching him, in owl form, but not really being very helpful.

“I don’t suppose I’ll need school robes anymore,” he muttered, putting them in the “to stay” pile absentmindedly. “The Dursleys will probably burn them. But it doesn’t matter – we’re not going back there.”

Hedwig felt a jolt in her stomach. Harry didn’t know how much it pained her not to return there, mostly because Harry didn’t know how much of a home it was for her. The Dursleys were still downstairs,  and she knew it was best not to change. But she didn’t care anymore. Soon someone would be coming for him, and she wouldn’t have the chance to speak to him for hours. She stepped out of her cage and changed, sitting next to him on the floor.

“We don’t know that we’ll _never_ go back there,” she mused, staring at a badge intermittently flashing “POTTER STINKS.” “One day we could return. For old time’s sake or something. If you ever have kids, they’ll probably go there.”

“If I live long enough to have kids,” he replied, staring absently at his pile of left-behind possessions. Everything he owned was somewhere in this room, and it wasn’t very much. “I’m not really that concerned about the distant future right now, Hedwig. There might not be time for that.”

She frowned. “No.”

“No?” He looked at her quizzically.

“No, I won’t allow it. I’m not going to let you go through the rest of your life thinking your days are numbered.”

“But they _are_ , Hedwig, it’s not as if I’m going to just –”

“Stop.” She shut her eyes. “Just stop.”

He put one arm around her waist casually. There was no nervousness in his touch now – not since he had gone out with Ginny. Any static between them had long since faded. Hedwig sometimes wondered if he even thought of her that way anymore. She hoped for his sake that he didn’t, although she couldn’t be quite so sure about herself.

“Fine,” he said weakly. “Then yeah, maybe someday we’ll go back. You and me and my kids.”

She nodded. “And Ginny, don’t forget her,” she said, keeping her voice steady.

“You think Ginny and I’ll be together, then?” he asked, looking up at his wall.

“I do, Harry, yeah. You fit together.”

He smiled slightly at this, then it quickly faded. He was thinking again about death, about not having the chance to have kids with Ginny.

“Look, Harry. Everything is going to be fine. If you don’t honestly believe it, at least try to think that way for my sake. At least try to think that you’re a normal wizard, coming of age, who is going to have a long and fruitful life. Everything will go fine tonight, everything will be all right. Promise me that, Harry.” She shivered slightly. “Don’t live like you’re dying.”

He looked at her then. They didn’t often look at each other, really. They were used to holding each other, and moving together, but they were always too distracted. Now he was actually looking at her, and his green eyes were so close to her amber ones. She had never really believed that you could see wisdom in a person’s eyes, but looking at his, remembering how they looked when he was eleven, she thought he was wise. She could see it, or at least she felt she could. He was a young man. He was her boy. He was the best choice she had ever made.

“For you,” he said. “I promise.”

There was a commotion downstairs; it was time for the Dursleys to leave. It was time for everything. She changed and hopped back in her cage, but not before nipping him on his hand with her beak. He smiled and laughed just slightly, carefree like he used to be.

There was a lot of commotion in a flurry that night, and Hedwig could not keep track of it. The plans had changed, and that worried her. Now there was Polyjuice potion involved, and decoys. And as usual, Harry was making a fit about people putting themselves on the line for him. As usual, he didn’t realize the extent to which he was loved. The only thing Hedwig was really worried about was whether she’d get to stay with him; to her immense relief, everyone had a false Hedwig with them, and she was going with Harry. She was just the slightest bit offended that anyone could be fooled by a cheap stuffed imitation of her, but there wasn’t time to dwell on it.

Suddenly they were in Hagrid’s sidecar (not a very dignified choice) and flying off into the night. She tried to believe what she’d told Harry about everything being all right, but her every instinct was telling her that something bad was coming. She would try to protect Harry in any way could. She would make sure that the something bad wasn’t coming for him.

The premonition only grew stronger until the world burst into chaos. Someone had tipped off Voldemort. Death Eaters were streaking through the sky and attacking each of the fake Potters, throwing curses wildly. Hedwig could do nothing; trapped in her cage, without magic, she was useless and lost in a flurry of motion. Suddenly there were so few of them, trying to fend off what seemed like an unmovable force of Death Eaters.

In the commotion, the motorbike flipped upside down, and Hedwig was slipping. The cage was falling, and trapped within it she would not be able to fly to safety. She saw Harry slipping away from her, and was possessed with a great, swarming panic. She could not lose him like this. But just as she lost hope, his hand reached downward and grabbed her cage, barely and with the tips of his fingers, and she was safe, fine, settled again in his right-side-up lap. There was such relief on his face in that instant, to see her, his closest companion, safe. And she looked into his eyes again, and her heart slowed, and she thought, _See? Everything is going to be all right_.

Then there was a flash of green light, and the darkness became complete.

 

<><><><> 

 

When Harry heard that Alastor Moody had fallen on his behalf, he was angry. He was upset and mournful and hit with indescribable guilt. But there was a deeper feeling, a deeper pain, that he did not acknowledge that night. He had set the sidecar on fire, and watched it fall to the earth burning, but he had not let it find him in the pits of his stomach. So he drank his firewhiskey and let the burning in his throat drown the call of the louder melancholy he knew he would have to feel someday.

 In fact, he did not feel it until the very end. After he had intended to die, after he had given up hoping against her wishes. He had seen her, when he spun the stone. There was his father, and his mother, Sirius…but there was another. Off behind them, gleaming whiter than in life, he had seen her, perched in a tree. More of an owl than a witch. And though she had told him not to give in to death, she had looked at him, as if to say that everything was going to be all right.

But that had not been when he felt it. It was after. It was when there was death everywhere, laid out on mats in the Great Hall, that it began. Strong and in his stomach, it began. The compounded grief, and at its center, the very thing he had been trying not to feel since just before his seventeenth birthday. He excused himself from the company of his friends, wandered past the bodies without thinking. He headed slowly upstairs, mechanically, wandering freely into a classroom he only ever seen two people use. And there was no one inside now.

When he entered the room, he was struck by the silence. He remembered sitting, and talking, and being scolded and scolding, and checking the map, and staring out the window. He remembered so many times he had cried. He did not think it would overtake him here, but the grief that had been swelling in his stomach consumed his whole body. And though there was no one there to tell him it would be all right, and he was sure that it would not be all right, he crumbled. Harry lay on the floor, alone, and without anyone to hold him, he cried. He sobbed, finally releasing the storm. He cried for Dobby, who had never asked for anything. He cried for Moody, whom he had never really known. He cried for Lupin, he cried for Tonks, he cried for the child who would never know his parents. He cried for Fred, as if for his own brother. But most of all, he cried for the one who should have been with him, who should held him up and stroked his hair. He cried for the girl who had known him longer than he’d known her, who had always been there in seemingly endless summers. He cried for the witch who was really more of an owl. Alone in what had once been their room, he said goodbye to her, in that wordless way they had developed. He said goodbye with what had once felt like a pulse between two people, but was now only a shudder.

 

<><><><> 

 

Harry kept his final promise. He did marry Ginny, and they did have kids, and he never again lived like he was dying. No one ever knew about her, and he never cried for her again. He did not think she would have wanted that.

Though Harry was never again plagued by serious nightmares, they did not vanish altogether from his life. Occasionally, when his sons or his daughter were stricken by the normal childhood bad dreams, he would comfort them. He knew how frightening and helpless he had felt in his dreams, and he would rock them back and forth and hold their hands until they fell asleep. If they cried, he would tell them that everything would be all right. And though he could not tell you where he picked up the habit, he would sing softly a tune he had learned years ago, gently coaxing them and cooing “I my loved ones' watch am keeping, All through the night.”


End file.
